1931

He started riding lessons from Evelyn and Adeline's stables. The workshop for veterans had long disbanded but Adeline wanted to expand her horizons and help other individuals effected by trauma, in the form of therapy with the horses.

"The bonding with the horses truly helps." She had rescued the horses from abusive owners and the ones about to be put down and sent to factories. "They are just as damaged as their riders. You'd be helping each other. You just have to have trust in yourself first for the horse to trust you." She had said. Once he did that, apologizing what he did to it's brothers in the war, he was able to trust horses again but still aware of the dangers that they could become finicky and easily spooked.

On the back of a horse he was equal as any man or woman. He needed no stick. He traded his unreliable legs for the horses four sturdy ones.

He was never to go fast, as to not risk jostling his spine or being thrown from the horse. Mary's and the doctor's orders. But this day, he disobeyed them.

In the saddle he felt free, kicking the horses sides, going faster and faster, the wind through his hair, gave the illusion of running. He hadn't felt that feeling in years. More then ten years. At forty-six, he'd never felt more alive. Six years more than he was believed to live. Maybe, just maybe, he could have at least another forty years.

Mary pushed him around the grounds at Evelyn and Adeline's stables after he dismounted.

"Why are we out here? I though you would want to go up to rest." Their friends had a room made up for them to stay, and for the children as well.

"I wanted to watch the blossoms with you before they fade." He referred to the trees that dotted the trail.

Oh my dear sweet, wonderful man. "Will you kiss me again? I have the notion to do more than just kissing." She stopped to bend down so he could kiss her.

She loved him just as much as when she had married him, perhaps even more. To her he looked no different from that day, though his hair was lighter from the sun and from aging, their was hardly any grey hair yet. They were soon called in for dinner. Mary asked if he had enough energy to join them.

He replied, 'more than enough."

Adeline's family did not discriminate against him.

Adeline's father was prone to fainting spells, "the falling sickness. That is seizures. We think perhaps that my Uncle had it, and that's why he never married. I couldn't imagine that for myself. I wouldn't know where I would be without my wife." Sir Noland and his wife, Lady Phoebe, smiled at each other lovingly, their hands were obscured from view by the table cloth, likely holding each other's hands under the table. Mary wanted to feel just as young as they did when she and Matthew were their age. They were in their seventies. Adeline had lost one of her brothers in the war and one to the falling sickness when he was eight years old, Adeline had been too young to remember but she still had her younger brother, who was in his thirties and numerous sisters with several nieces and nephews. "This sort of things runs in families of course but we knew our love for each other was worth the risk."

Adeline excuses herself, not feeling well. "Don't worry." She said to Mary, "It's just the food."

Mary wasn't a fool and knew exactly what could be going on with Adeline. Matthew excused himself shortly afterwards. Mary went to check on her first, Matthew would be fine without her.

After a long day, he went up to bed. Caroline came into the bedroom to 'tuck' him in, as she always did when his legs and back were bothering him, and put her dolls and stuffed animals around him so that he wouldn't be lonely, planting a kiss on his forehead, giving him a hug. She fell asleep as he held her.

Mary found Adeline in her room, crying, dabbing at her red puffy eyes.

"You're pregnant." Without a verbal confirmation, only receiving a nod, she hugged her friend. They sat down on the bed together. "You've both been waiting for this for a long time and thought it wasn't possible for you to have children..."

"It's not that we couldn't. I wasn't fully honest with you. I should have told you the truth. I know you of all people, apart from my parents, would be less judgmental, but..." She stared to sob again. "What am I going to do? I'm forty five and I'm at high risk of losing it. If it survives, our child could have the fainting sickness too."

"Your parents have gone through it. I'm sure you and Evelyn can. I know you can. And times are different now. Matthew and I struggled for almost two years before we had George. I know it's nowhere near the same, but I want you to know that we'll be there for you. Every step of the way."

"Thank you, Mary. You're the best friend a woman could ask for..." They then talked about their husbands. She even got a laugh out of Adeline, telling her of Matthew's ridiculous habits but amusing habits, his over-use of the word proper and how it had become quite a game with the children and Nanny, and the way Evelyn used to follow her around like a lost puppy.

"Now he still does that with me. He still has that look." Adeline added. When they stopped laughing, Adeline wiped her tears, this time happy ones, and gave a sigh of relief. "Look at us, talking like we're young school girls and not middle-aged women."

"Our men do keep us young!" They gave a toast to each other. Their friendship was reminiscent of her and Anna's, when they would have conversations. In fact, she had been here before, when Anna had trouble getting pregnant and had her miscarriage, and also had been there for her through the first few. Had they not been from different classes things would have been different. Even to a point it reminded her of Sybil, being her confidant. Adeline now filled that space, though it would never quite be the same.

"You remind me a lot of my sister, not personality wise, my cousin Rose has got that down, though to a more exaggerated extent. But in the way I can talk to you that I can't talk to anybody else, besides my husband."

"I feel the same. When I lost my brother...he was the only one that I could talk to about anything. I need his wise words now...and Jake's. I know it's been years..."

"I know how you feel. When I lost Sybil..."

"You needed someone to talk to besides your own husband, God bless him, or you'd go insane."

"Exactly."

"To be honest, you're more like a sister to me than my actual sisters are. We don't really talk."

"I hardly talk with Edith. When I do it's mostly for Matthew's sake, as they are friends. But the fact remains, we're never going to get along, Edith and I, at least the way sister's are supposed to. She tried to cause a scandal about me and wrote to the Turkish Embassy and I never forgave her for it."

"Was there any truth in what she wrote?" Mary rose her eyebrows. "You know what, it's not for me to know. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"What did your sisters do?"

"My sisters... they were never supportive of my father. They tried to claim him mentally unfit, with the advice of their solicitor husbands, so that they'd be in charge of his money. I don't hold anything against your husband being one. There are some good ones out there. But for that..." She gave shrug, "I never forgave them for it."

"What about your mother?"

"Arthritis. On her good days, she wouldn't be able to get him off the floor if he had one of his fits. It was always the butler that would help but servants are hard to find these days. Anyway the claim didn't go anywhere because father is so well liked. And it's only made them even more angry."

"Well, who needs them? As I've always said, you make your own family."

A revelation shown in Adeline's eyes. "Here's to honorary sisters."

"Here. Here."

Mary entered the guest room, late in the night, smiling at the sight of her youngest daughter, curled up in her father's arms. It really did make her count her blessings. She removed the toys off the bed on her side, giving herself enough birth to climb in. Gently she took Carrie from her father's arms and placed her in the middle. Soon, one by one the other children joined.

She woke to the bright sun shining through the curtains. The bed was empty, apart from her husband, who was slowly starting to arouse.

"Good morning, Mrs. Crawley."

"Morning, Mr. Crawley."

"How are you?"

"Fine." She gave a sigh. "Although I'm sad that the children have already gone down for their breakfast, I'm also grateful that we get some time alone."

"The more than kissing that you promised?"

She gave a nod and rolled over onto her knees, straddling aside him, she lifted her nightgown and tossed it onto the floor.

As they held each other, it was like she was holding the sun in her heart, the darkness that had weighed on her for years was replaced with light, and joy, a ray of the brightest colors, and hope, that she had never known before.

All those years ago, she could have let him go as he had ordered her to. She almost had but she had chosen to stay.

She had stood up to her mother. She and Aunt Rosmund had almost ruined her happiness once. It was the only time Mary stood against her mother's wishes, though she had acted brave, she was actually quite terrified, facing her mother. It was after Matthew had sent her away.

"I don't think you should mention anything about marriage." Her mother said. "At least right now."

"What are you saying?"

"Matthew is paralyzed. He will need a lot of care."

"We might not be able to be married right away. We agreed not to have the wedding till after the war, which by then he'd have more than enough time to adjust and re-gain his health."

"Then...you're not going back on the marriage?"

"Of course not! I love Matthew. I almost lost him once and several other times, by you and Aunt Rosamund pushing your way in, then with this bloody war. I'm not going to loose him again. Just because he's been injured I'm not going to toss him over."

"I just thought...you'd respect his wishes. Matthew wants what is best for you. He knows what he's doing. He want's what's best for you...and wants you to have happiness. He wants you to move on with your life."

Mary shot up as if she had a bee up her dress. "No! He doesn't know what he's doing! He's just confused at the moment, with the morphine, and he hasn't had enough time to adjust. " She knew that wasn't the truth, maybe part of it, that he hadn't adjusted to it. Isobel had told her to give him time to get used to his new reality. It wouldn't just happen overnight. Let him move at his own pace.

He's just gotten the news for goodness sake. Mary angrily thought in response to her own mother. And it's been less than a week. For him his life was essentially over. But she was going to show him that it wasn't.

"It doesn't change the way I feel about him or should it to you or anyone else!"

"You say that now but you don't know how hard things are going to be for Matthew."

"I know how difficult it will be." Mary agreed on one thing, that it wouldn't be easy, at least at first. "There will be adjustments that will need to be made.."

"No, Mary. I don't think you do."

Mary turned red. How dare she talk to me as if I don't know any better, as if I were Edith or Sybil. Sybil knew more than she did, being nurse, but not by much. There was not much known about the field of spinal injuries. But with the war having an increased number in them, there were bound to be advances, not too far in the future that would be able to help Matthew.

"I will not let you dictate my happiness again!"

As she began storm out of the room, her mother asked,

"Will you tell him?"

"I will. When he is well enough." And when I think it's right. "For the moment, I won't talk about our engagement, but I'm not giving up on him. My decision still stands."

She knew it probably crossed her mother's mind to tell Matthew herself about Pamuk but didn't want to risk losing her daughter forever.

Lying next to her husband, fourteen years later, she was glad that she had never caved to her mother; she had been willing to forsake her and all others who opposed her and Matthew's love for one another. Because that was what true love was.

She couldn't imagine a life where she was without him.

The children seemed to be upset to be going home for they had school the next day. Jo was the only one who seemed sat that it was the last week of school before summer holiday. She sat quietly in the back of the car on the way home from the last day of school, clutching her fist around something in her hand.

"What's that you got there?" Her father asked.

"A sunflower seed. Teacher gave it to me."

"Why don't we plant it in the garden when we get home?" George suggested.

"Your mother loves sunflowers." Matthew added.

"I didn't know that." said Jo.

"I bet you didn't know she likes cricket either."

They planted the seed when they got home; he let Jo pick a spot. Then they had a few rounds of cricket, their throwing the ball from his chair, while Uncle Tom did the running. He had joined them, against the girls to even the numbers. Then Matthew and the children rested under their special tree.

Summer officially had begun, which meant their annual holiday to Paris. The children loved it, especially George and Jo.

When they got back just for the fall to start, Adeline were blessed with a healthy boy that they named Nathaniel. The younger children loved to spend time with him, as he got older, he was much more fun to play with. Adeline looked pale and drawn but soon back on her feet, after several months. And they couldn't stop talking about their trip to Paris as well.

Jo had caught her parents in the act, walking into their bedroom, seeing them half naked and on top of each other. The next morning, (they must have thought that she had wondered into their room, too tired to know what they were doing and waited to tell her. So she played along, saying she didn't remember and asked what they were doing.) her parents tried to nervously explain, her father more flustered than her mother, but she made it easier on them, explaining that she already knew.

"That's where babies come from. I know because of the trips to the tenant farms with Uncle Tom."

She was advised not to tell her siblings as they were too little. Jo didn't mind. She liked knowing information that her siblings didn't. She liked to feel smarter. Well except for George. She told him about it.

"Does that mean that mum and dad are going to have a baby?" He asked.

"Not always. Anyway, I think they're too old. Aunt Adeline and Uncle Evelyn are lucky that they have Nathaniel."

They always looked forward to their trips to Paris in the summer. Sybie would also join them on occasion and this summer, 1932, baby Nathaniel, almost a year old was old enough to join them. They loved taking a ferry to the beach and build sand castles and play in the sand with him, while he laughed as he squished the sand between his little pudgy toes.

Lord Merton came to visit Isobel Crawley, whom he hadn't seen in a few years. His son had gotten himself in a spot of trouble. Since Larry wouldn't listen to anyone and was obviously afraid of her son, perhaps he would able to get him to listen, to see sense. Of course he should have seen it coming. She didn't want her son to have anything to do with his and he had no obligation to suggest such a thing, as they hadn't been friends for years. Before she made her decision to marry Clarkson, he had payed her a visit, to try to convince her to choose him. If she had concerns about Matthew, he could help him more than Clarkson had ever done for him. If Matthew had been one of his sons, he'd want the best interest for him. He'd have him sent away to one of the best soldiers hospitals; he'd be treated well and have the best help, and would be provided with the best care.

Of course it didn't sit well.

"You'd want my son locked away?"

"They're not like the other places. Mary voiced her concerns to me. I think he still needs help. It should have been done years ago."

"I appreciate and respect you considering my daughter in-law's concerns. You are her God father but that doesn't mean you have an obligation to act on them."

"I have every obligation..."

" As long as Robert is alive you don't, and if I marry you. Even then, she is of age, a grown woman. I doubt she would have actually suggested such a thing?"

Lord Merton fell silent.

"Dear Dickie, doesn't this prove all the more that we are not right for each other?" The baron opened his mouth to speak; she put up her hand. "Clarkson has done everything he can and continues to do so. I've grown quite fond of him." He closed it when she was finished.

"Fondness is a baseless fact in marriage. There must be more than that, than common interests."

"And you would be the best judge of that?" The baron was quiet again. "The heart wants what it wants. I never felt this wanted and loved since Reginald. He puts Matthew's best interest and mine at heart. He belongs with his wife and children. That's all he needs. That's all he's ever needed. And he quite agrees." He, referring to Richard.

Why did he think this would go well either? Among the whispers in the Embassy, there was talk of another war and Larry had tied himself to some very nefarious people and would be seen as an enemy of the Crown if he was caught. If he could not talk sense into Larry at least he could seek his legal counsel. He had gotten two of Downton's maids off of serious crimes.

"Both of which were innocent, one of them a young girl taken advantage of by an older man. I think you overextended your reach Lord Merton. There is nothing I nor my son can do. You have overstayed your welcome."

On his way out, he nodded to George, patting him on the head.

The old baron would always give him chocolates.

15th December, 1933

Jo could hear her Aunt and father arguing, well they weren't actually shouting, it was more of a disagreement. They were talking about her new newspaper column. It was unusual as Papa always supported her.

"You realize this will infuriate the Nazis."

"I hope so."

"They're dangerous when riled."

"I know they're dangerous, that's why I oppose them."

"I just don't see the point making them irate. You can't reason with men like that and certainty Adolph Hitler."

"You attack them with the fellow peerage on the board, half of whom are in parliament."

"That's different. I like a reasonable debate."

Listening from the hallway, Jo nodded to herself approvingly. Just like her father, cautious, logical and law-abiding, (he has to be. He is a lawyer) it doesn't pay to be emotional when it came to politics. Speaking of, she expressed interest in politics, at having just turned eleven, wanting to take part in their discussions. Her mother strongly disapproved, not because she thought it was unbecoming and un-lady like, they should have an opportunity to have their voices heard but it wasn't for little girls. Her father disagreed, that she should know the ways of the world, all of them should. But her mother seemed to had won in the end.

"Jewish shops are being destroyed and people who disagree with them." Her father continued. "I don't want you to risk putting yourself or our family in danger."

"But could it really happen here? In London?" There was no answer from her father. "I don't think so."

But Hitler already had followers in the British industries, newspapers, and members of parliament. He thought of Larry Grey. He had recently moved to America a year ago, (buying up an old friends bank about to go under) due to his involvement with Oswald Mosley. And was glad. Good riddance. It was the smartest thing that the man could have done.

On 21st December he read in the paper that Larry Grey committed suicide, like so many men who had lost their businesses.

Soon after Lord Merton had died, in the early months of 1934. It must have been the shock of it; the papers gave the details in the paper, accusing him of being a Nazi sympathizer like his son; (Edith had a respectful story about the Late Baron's life) even though the family knew the truth, that he had long cut ties with his son, it had come as a surprise to them all. Mary was never particularly close to him, despite having been her godfather, but still attended the funeral.

To cheer themselves up with all the gloom news, they took their Holiday in Paris a month early, in April. Caroline would climb into their bed on the cool nights, burrowing between them, snuggling closer to her papa.

Carrie was six or seven or so when she realized that her father was disabled. It was when they returned home and he was extremely tired from the trip.

I think the reason why daddy has always seemed so normal to me is that he is able to do most day-to-day things. Me and my siblings had taken a few advantages of it. First of all, I always had somewhere to sit when I was tired of walking. He carried me and my brothers and sisters everywhere on his lap. Not at the same time though. Unfortunately, I am now a little too big and a lot too old to fit on his legs, but those were some good wheelchair rides! Secondly, he always gets special treatment. Usually the rest of the family or complete strangers. Then there's also the playing with the wheelchair. There would be all sorts of competitions and races between my brothers and cousins. I, on the other hand, being the youngest one, would just watch them and, sometimes, unsuccessfully try to be as good as them. But we had to give the wheelchair back to daddy when we were done. There are disadvantages, as mummy tells us. He can easily get sick because he's mostly sitting and he's sometimes in pain. He also has to use a very specific kind of cushion in order not to create wounds and bruises, what mummy and grandpa Clarkson call a pressure sore, on his very skinny bum. Mama's words.

"I wouldn't have a skinny bum if I didn't need to sit most of the time." Papa replied.

He also has skinny legs and they would shake on their own sometimes with what are called muscle spasms, on one of his bad days and would be all twisted. But after a day in bed they would be back to normal. He would know when they were coming when his legs felt tight and stiff. He'd use the wheelchair all that day to prevent a fall.

I can see how annoyed he sometimes gets because of how long it takes him to go potty or get dressed and ready to go somewhere but he never complains. Of course, when George and Josephine are home from school they always try to help as much as they can, but I can sense that now he's increasingly needing more help bothers him a lot. It makes me think how hard it will be on him when he's old. Because I know that deep down, he takes great pride on how much he is able to do as a disabled person.

But it's never got in the way of him being my daddy. He is the best father I could possibly imagine having, and has helped me and our whole family infinitely more than we could ever help him. He's the one I go to when I'm sad, happy or scared. I love mama with all my heart, but the kind of love I share with papa is just so extremely special. It was just as special for Jo too but she's becoming more scary lately. Mama says she'll be going through a change soon, that means a little girl becomes a young woman but not to worry it will only last once a month.

Mary hated to admit how fast her children were growing up, especially Jo, which was exceptionally frightening. Their youngest was seven. Even Sybie. She was fourteen now. Jo was almost thirteen. She was at the awkward stage and jealous that Sybie had gotten her monthlies at the age of twelve. She went to Isobel, asking how Sybie can be so mean than nice the next. Isobel then explained it to her. Mary was angry at first that Isobel had told her about it, as she felt that she should have been the one.

The thirteen of December, the day before her birthday, she had her first. Though she knew what was supposed to happen she was scared. She was alone with her father and siblings decorating the Christmas tree. She didn't want to tell her father.

One spring day in 1935, Jo came in from her riding, throwing her ridding gear on the ground.

"Pick those up, please, so your father doesn't trip over them or run them over." Her mother ordered.

"I'm not speaking to him. He told me I couldn't be a horse jokey. I could be a teacher or nurse or anything but that."

"He only wants what is best for you."

"I'm not a baby anymore." She puffed out her chest and sucked in her breath. "I'm a woman now."

"Jo, that is not..." Her mother began to scold her.

"Proper, I know."

"You have to understand, that in his eyes you'll always be his little girl.

"Caroline is his little girl." Jo rolled her eyes. "Ever since she showed up."

Jo later apologized to her father. He sat next to her on the sofa. He had come in from in from riding, though she had run off from him, he decided to stay out a bit longer to think. It had taken sometime to get used to and accustomed to horses, and mounting them. It was great exercise and good for his lungs and all over health, the doctor's recommendation.

She had taken off when he disapproved in her future choice in career. He was afraid that she would break her neck, with how fast she was going, even though she'd been an expert rider since the time she was six. He had caught up with her, her face read with anger, shouted at him and headed back to the house.

"I'm real sorry papa, that I shouted at you. I was...am going through something."

"I figured as such. But I was too afraid to say something."

"I never heard you say that you were afraid of something before." They paused in an awkward silence, not usually open to sharing their feelings, let alone with each other. People had always told her he was afraid of some things, like when he had nightmares. She never heard him have that many anymore. Or afraid they'd get hurt and couldn't get to them. There was one time when Katie had lit a menorah, she had gone through a phase of being interested in all things Jewish, after Rachel had told her all about it. She had it burning in the upstairs window. Papa had been outside in the garden and had seen it. By the time he had made it up using the lift, he was sweating with the effort, more panicked than frightened. Jo had heard her mother's voice, shouting.

"I wasn't playing with fire." Was her sister's response. "I was lighting the menorah. Grandma Rachel showed me how."

"I know but you must consider your father."

"Yes, I know." Katie had said, sadly. "He explained it all to me."

"He's afraid that he can't get to you if there were a fire and you can't use a lift during one.

The rest of their words were quiet and muffled.

"It started before my birthday." Jo said her father, slowly hesitating, before she admitted. Her father had admitted he had been, so she supposed it was ok, and I was afraid. Though I knew it was going to happen."

Her father nodded. "I was worried that I wouldn't handle it right. I keep thinking of you as a little girl. It's like I looked away and missed you growing up. You've grown into something more, better."

She glanced at him skeptically.

"I'm sorry you had to go through it with me there. I know you'd have rather had your mother or your grandmother..."

"No. I'm glad it was you." She hugged him, only to break away when her mother entered the room, her younger siblings giggling behind her.

Such children. At least I can still talk to George.

They had always been as thick as thieves but since they were growing up and he was fourteen, he had no time for childish things either. She switched her dolls for Paris's highest fashion, when they could afford it and were able to go. Papa was starting to have more difficulty getting around. Of course she knew that wasn't the whole truth. Things were getting serious with the Germans.

She had very fond memories of her childhood and would miss it, though at times she still felt like a child.

On Sunday after Sunday school they would be packed into the cars and would drive across the country side to the tenant farms and would be given apples from the trees as much as they could carry.

Their Great-grandmother Levinson, whom they weren't to call her that and never seen occasionally sent news paper clippings for them and their mother. She'd even sent cut outs of paper dolls for the girls that were to flimsy and delicate. Mama began to draw her own for them on scraps of paper. One day when she was busy working at the Bates' shop, Caroline had asked papa, "Draw preety lady."

He did his best but his drawing was not as pretty by far as Mama's were. Mama didn't think his drawing was so bad. She was almost two years old and didn't know what she wanted and apparently wanted to cry. She loved her mother more than most of the children because she was the youngest and didn't understand that she could be difficult sometimes. Jo thought. But they loved their mother.

She had started to do more things with them when they lived in London. They'd gotten a chance to be a proper family, how to be a family together.

Jo got along the least with Katie, as she was the middle child, seemingly taking over the tradition from their mother. Their Papa was close friends with their Aunt Edith but they could sense the tension between their mother and their Aunt. When Jo wasn't picking on Katie, it would be Carrie.

She would get annoyed when Caroline and Jay wanted to be part of the big kids, being the younger cousins. They had a younger cousin in America but they didn't know him; he and his siblings only visited once a year around Christmas. They loved hanging around their cousin Sybie. She was just one of those people that everyone loved. She was a genuinely kindhearted person.

They were all going for a bike ride and Jo was adamant that Jay and Caroline didn't get to come with.

I wasn't sure she was ever a nice person, even as a baby. Papa saws she was. Anyway, Sybie could see just how sad this made me.

So she decided to go on a bicycle ride just the two of us. And we did. She would sometimes take us all over town; to the park, to join her on errands and sometimes to the theatre to see a film.

Their mother was often their go between and defused their fighting, normally it would be their father. They learned to get along better and co-exist with each other. And when they would go on Holiday to Paris their differences were forgotten.

They loved their summer trips to Paris, especially George and Jo.

My brother and I are very good at sarcasm, sarcasm is our masterpiece, our own language. On our way to our grandparents' when we lived in London, or when on our way to Paris, we'd crack a lot of jokes and we all laugh, we talked our hearts out, we ate together, we had lots of fun , we saw beautiful places…I was so happy. Not far apart in age, he understands and loves me more than anyone in this universe…except for Papa of course. There was this really big fountain where you could toss in coins to make a wish. Everyone wished for what they wanted but my brother and I held onto our coins, I wanted to toss mine in last. My beloved brother didn't toss his in giving it to papa.….who looked very weak and tired from the long trip.

"I already got what I wished for. I know we need it more than some silly fountain. I only did it for them." He motioned his head to our younger siblings. They were sitting at the edge of the fountain, dipping their hands into it to feel the cool water.

We weren't poor. We were rich, though not as rich as we once were. Papa, Mama and Uncle Tom made extra income off of the horses from Canningford Grange, they had sold to the Napier's and from Uncle Tom's and Henry Talbot's car business; the tenant farms barley made enough. The store in Boston had closed due to the Great Depression but had enough to get by. Many families had not been as fortunate. It had been much worse in America and Germany and other places. Great Uncle Harold had also made it by on the skin of his teeth, he was never savey in saving money, Papa had to show him. We last saw him at his wedding to a woman more than half his age and what we last heard was that she was expecting their first child. Having a child a fifty-eight and she was twenty-eight, ew. She probably married him for his money. I had heard Papa on the phone talking to him about it, that he wouldn't be able to bail him out if she was some kind of fortune hunter. Uncle Atticus and Aunt Rose's bank had managed to survive. Their three children, our cousins we barely know were Vi, Peter, and Ronald.

They would come to visit on holidays.

My brother's simple act of kindness, care and love, made my eyes water but wiped them away. I never appreciated my brother more in that moment, in front of my parents.

He has a heart of gold, which is full of love, and care and support for others, I am so proud of my beloved brother. He means the world to me. He is my best friend, my inspiration, my happiness. But I wouldn't be caught dead being kind, only to a select few.

When George was fifteen and Jo was soon to be fourteen, they went with Billy Morrison to one of Oswald Mosley's meetings. Geroge didn't buy into it but he wanted to see what it was all about.

Mosley was charming, his audience hanging on every word, almost convincing. Quickly they discovered it was not for them. They were not brought up that way. Their grandmother was Jewish and their father was disabled. Billy admitted only going for the girls.

George had learned how easy it was to be tempted by something evil, disguised as good.

George remembered that in 1932, a man named Larry Grey, had been attending his meetings. Yes, he remembered now, overheard his grandmother Isobel and Lord Merton, trying to get his father to intervene, thinking that Larry would be afraid enough to listen. What had his father done to make Larry Grey afraid of him? George asked himself.

A year later, after moving to America, Larry Grey had committed suicide after going bankrupt, leaving behind a wife, Amelia, and two sons that were just as rotten.

The Crawley children doted on Nathaniel as if he was their own sibling, a part of the fold and would always be part of their lives. Almost four years old! Cousin Jay was visiting too. At eight years old he was almost at an intellectual level as his cousins George and Katie. They often talked about literature. It was Carrie who helped with the math, her talent that even surpasses Mr. Molesley's.

Jay was going up to London in the afternoon with his mother. She wanted him to tour the newspaper, in hopes one day he would run it. But he didn't want anything to do with it. Maybe an apprentice when he was older so he could write of the paper to improve his writing skills.

He thought about selling it off one day. After his parents were gone of course. He didn't want to hurt their feelings. He went up to his Uncle's room for some advice. His Uncle Matthew had been an only child.

As soon as he opened the door, he saw the sight of his Uncle's legs, grotesquely twisted and pale white, shaking like an old man's knobby knees. He was pulling the blanket over them but Jay had already seen them.

"Uncle Matthew, what's wrong with your legs?"

His Uncle was calm, not frightened of worried at all. Maybe this was supposed to happen then.

The explanations he used with his children hadn't worked with Jay. And for a while Jay had been hesitant to approach him.

Jay was sitting down to tea with his parents when he asked, "Was Uncle Matthew always a cripple?"

The room went silence. Edith just sat, with her lips pressed together.

"Don't you ever use that word." His father's tone had a sharp edge to it.

"Isn't that what they're called?"

"Yes. But it isn't nice. And he wasn't always like that. He was injured in the war. It isn't his fault. Don't listen to those no good classmates of yours."

Jay stormed off.

"Bertie..." Edith came over to put her hands on his shoulders to try to calm him.

"I'm just so angry. That our son can think that way."

"We don't know what he's thinking. We never explained it to him."

"I should have. I should have talked to Matthew about it, so I could. How he felt, even though I saw the struggle in his eyes. I wanted to ask how I could help, then they lost their child and he found the strength to take charge of everything. I'll go talk to him." Bertie got up and headed upstairs.

Their son was sitting on his bed, with a book. He was only pretending to read, pouting.

"I suppose you know why I'm up here?"

"Why do people say mean things about people like Uncle Matthew?"

Bertie, taken aback, slowly sat down on the bed.

"There are many reasons. Ignorance combined with insecurities. Power. Everything is about power in life. People like to have power. Like to think they are better than others in all ways. Many people abuse the power they have over others, they don't have a courage to confront those stronger than themselves but they look for the weak to bully. It is the bullies who are the true weak ones, the real cowards. You understand now?"

"Yes, sir."

The next time he was home on holiday from school, he apologized to his Uncle. "I'm sorry I called you a cripple, Uncle Matthew."

"When did you call me that?" His Uncle raised his eyebrows, seemingly more amused than shocked.

"When I asked Mum and Dad about it."

Mary saw Matthew and Jay interacting. It had always been hard to get Jay to. She saw the same confidence in her husband that she'd seen when he had accepted that he could still be a father, despite some of his limitations.

"She wants me to run the paper someday. I don't think I want to. Do you think she would be mad at me, you know if I just..." Jay shrugged, "chucked it?"

Matthew put on his 'lawyer expression' as he thought. "I think..." He paused for a moment, summoning the memory of what his mother said to him when he had first arrived to Downton. "She would be proud of you, whatever you decide. Your mother loves you."

The back of Jay's ear's turned red to match his hair. He grabbed at them the way he always did when he was nervous.

"She does."

"I know. She's the best mother ever!" And he truly meant it. "She loves you too, you know. You're her best friend." He went over to Sybie and Katie who were reading to Nathaniel. Sybie got along with most of her cousins safe Josephine. She seemed to take charge when George and Jo weren't around. Mary wished that she had that special bond only cousins could have. Patrick hadn't grown up at Downton like Sybie. Matthew never had any cousins either.

"Siblings and cousins are usually children's first friends. Did you ever wish you'd had any cousin?" Mary asked him.

He replied that he didn't feel he missed out on anything with cousins but did he wish he'd had siblings, yes.

"Who was your first friend, then?"

"You."

"Me? Now you're being weird." It felt weird to call a fifty year old man weird but they felt young again. He always made her feel younger.

"You know you can't resist me when I am. You should have known that when you married me." He moved further underneath the sheets, putting her arms around her, he gave her a kiss, then moved back over to his side of the bed.

"Sybil was mine." She said.